


Not Blood but Bond

by Maeve_of_Winter



Category: DCU (Comics), Young Justice (Comics)
Genre: Adopted Children, Canonical Character Death, Cissie is Oliver's daughter, Gen, Parent-Child Relationship, Parenthood, Past Child Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-21
Updated: 2019-02-21
Packaged: 2019-10-27 04:15:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,008
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17759588
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maeve_of_Winter/pseuds/Maeve_of_Winter
Summary: Dinah never had children with Oliver. Yet she finds herself raising Cissie for Oliver all the same.





	Not Blood but Bond

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Merfilly](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Merfilly/gifts).



> At big thanks to ilyena_sylph for helping me with some ideas for this fic! Thanks so much, I really appreciate your help!

Every swing of the pendulum of the grandfather clock in the Queen mansion front living room was abnormally loud, and because of it, Dinah found herself very aware of every second ticking by. She tried to relax, tried to focus on the JLA mission reports she needed to read before the next morning, but she couldn’t concentrate.

Cissie was late. Only by five minutes, but her curfew was at eleven, and she knew it and mostly followed it.

“Curfew?” Cissie had repeated when Dinah had first told her about the rule, looking legitimately surprised. “Never had one of those before. Are you sure you want me to have one? The more time I’m here, the less time I’m on the streets, and the more criminals that are able to escape.”

Dinah had needed to bite her tongue to refrain from telling Cissie that the reason she’d never had a curfew before was that her mother was a monstrously self-absorbed lunatic who would’ve sold her down the river if it meant getting publicity for it.

When she had spoke, she was careful not to make her reply about Bonnie, instead focusing on Cissie. Her well-being was the point of concern here, after all. “You’re fifteen years old, Cissie. You deserve to take a break from hunting down villains. No one expects you to do it all night and all day.”

Well, Bonnie had and probably still did, but that was the reason Dinah, a woman with no actual relation to Cissie, had custody of her rather than her own mother.

Now, the clock’s gong chimed again, signalling that it was now a quarter past. Twisting her pen between her hands, Dinah wondered if it would be better to stay here and wait or if she should go out and look for Cissie. Every instinct was urging her to go look for her—Cissie could be in danger, she could need help. But on the flipside, Dinah needed to convince Cissie that she could trust her and that Dinah trusted her in turn, that she wasn’t the micromanaging control freak that Bonnie had been. Going and looking for Cissie as soon as she was just fifteen minutes late just reinforced the idea that Dinah was some authority figure to enforce rules and not the family member she wanted to be for Cissie.

Exasperated, Dinah threw down her pen and listened as it clattered against the mahogany coffee table. Never had she been a parent before, and she’d never thought that she’d end up raising Oliver’s child, not after finding out years ago that she could never have children herself. And yet, here she was, living in the mansion he’d willed to her and serving as Cissie’s legal guardian at Oliver’s posthumous request—he’d applied for custody of Cissie just days before he’d died, and left instructions and funds for her care in the hands of Joanna Tanner, his lawyer. Determined to ensure Cissie never was returned to her mother, Oliver had created a list of of guardians who should take custody of Cissie in the event of his death. And Dinah’s name had been at the very top.

She could still remember the icy shock that had flooded over her when Joanna had come to her and explained the situation. Could still remember that her grief at Oliver’s death had then been doubled by the realization that he’d only just discovered he’d had a daughter who he hadn’t gotten to raise, that he and Dinah hadn’t been able to raise together, and that he’d died without ever meeting Cissie.

There was something cruelly ironic about Dinah now living at the family estate of her former longtime lover and raising the child they’d both wanted but hadn’t even known existed until there was no chance of them all being a family together.

But even as she could recall her grief, even as a part of her still ached for Oliver and for what could have been, Dinah could still remember her determination that had come over her in the very next moment, the determination to do what she could for Cissie now. The determination to follow Oliver’s wishes and raise Cissie and rescue her from state care and the risk of being handed back to her mother.

Dinah would never let that happen. Never.

The creak of the “basement” door (which actually led to a tunnel system to the outside to allow the house’s costumed vigilante occupants to come and go in privacy) snapped Dinah out of her musings, and Cissie emerged with a swish of her long blonde hair and a rustle of her mini-skirt.

Relief blossomed within Dinah at the sight of her, and she gave Cissie a quick scan up and down, assessing her for injuries. She appeared unharmed; both her gait and her posture were normal, and she bore no sign of blood or abrasions. A weight lifted off Dinah’s shoulders at her safe return, and maybe she was just a softie deep down, but she found herself too thankful for Cissie’s safe return to be truly upset about her late arrival.

Meanwhile, the first thing Cissie herself did was cast a glance at the clock and then at Dinah, assessing the situation. It was one of her old habits, likely created over the span of years. She took the time to observe the circumstances before speaking or acting, before putting herself at risk. Dinah could only surmise that after years with her mother, Cissie’s first instinct was always to look for the most painless option, the path of least resistance.

“Sorry, I’m late.” Cissie didn’t actually sound sorry; if anything, the apology sounded rehearsed. But the look on her face was sincere enough, and she met Dinah’s eyes directly as she spoke, which counted for something, as far as Dinah was concerned.

“Bart took a piece of shrapnel in his leg,” Cissie went on to explain. “With his super-speed healing, the wound closed up around it, and Kon had to dig it out with _his_ super-speed. I stayed and held Bart’s hand.” She paused, searching Dinah’s face, looking for signs of approval or disapproval, no doubt trying to determine if she’d made the correct choice. “It seemed like something a friend should do,” she added, as if trying to clarify.

The tension that had settled in Dinah’s shoulders eased away as she accepted Cissie’s explanation. She didn’t doubt the truth of it, and years on the job had taught her how to determine if someone was lying. Cissie wasn’t, and given her unorthodox development, Dinah wasn’t entirely sure Cissie knew how to lie so convincingly.

Knowing Cissie was apprehensively awaiting her response, Dinah nodded and gave her a smile, hoping to make herself look reasonable and approachable. “You did a good job, Cissie. And since you were helping one of your friends, I don’t really mind that you were out late. Just call me on your communicator and let me know next time.”

The response earned her a smile in turn from Cissie, and, seeming emboldened by the friendly reception, she joined Dinah on the couch, albeit leaving a space between them.

“I had Cassie drop me off as soon as we were sure Bart was okay,” she said. “It was actually really nice of her to do that.” That trace of surprise, the one that always appeared whenever she mentioned someone doing her a favor or being kind to her in general, entered her voice. “I know her mom was probably waiting up for her, too, and is going to be upset that she didn’t come home on time.”

Knowing Helena Sandsmark, what Cissie said was true. But Dinah didn’t fault the woman for her worry, especially now that she knew what it was like to be a single mother to a teenage superhero. And she was grateful for all that Helena did for the both of them—it was partially due to Helena’s testimony against Bonnie that Dinah had won custody of Cissie.

“Well, maybe if Dr. Sandsmark isn’t too upset, we can find a way to make it up to Cassie,” Dinah suggested, wanting to put any worries of Cissie’s about her friends at ease. “How about if you have her over here for a sleepover sometime soon? God knows we have the room for one.”

Genuine astonishment flashed over Cissie’s face. “You’ll let me have friends?”

Not _You’ll let me have friends_ **_over_ ** _?_ , but _You’ll let me have friends?_

Honestly, sometimes it was just Dinah’s deepest wish to throttle Bonnie King, if only because she didn’t think the woman was capable of ever realizing the extent of the damage she’d done to her daughter.

“Of course,” Dinah said, forcing herself to smile at Cissie, pushing down the burning outrage that always ignited whenever she was reminded of just how deeply she’d been neglected. “Your friends are always welcome here, Cissie.”

Cissie nodded but didn’t speak, instead slipping off her mask and running her hands through her hair, loosening the tangles.

The sight brought an old pain to smart again within Dinah. She often thought that if she and Oliver had been able to go through with having a child together, Cissie would have been the result. She had blue eyes like Dinah’s and had a similar tall, athletic build, lean but strong. Her hair, though, was all Oliver, gleaming gold rather than Dinah’s natural black. And she could see Oliver in her features as well, that regal, graceful bone structure, almost aristocratic, that so many of the wealthy seemed to possess.

Sometimes it hurt to look at Cissie. Sometimes it hurt to look at her and know that she should have been the child Oliver and Dinah raised together, even if Dinah wasn’t her actual mother. Sometimes it hurt to look at Cissie and know that she could have grown up with parents who cared for her, but instead she wound up with a mother who kept her a secret from her father so she could use her as a means to an end.

Sensing Dinah’s gaze, Cissie let her hand drop and turned to meet her gaze, a wariness learned over the years evident on her face. “Something wrong?”

Pushing aside the old anger simmering within her, Dinah took a deep breath and forced a smile. No need to let Cissie know that she was ruminating on her twisted childhood, especially not when Cissie herself already knew just how much she’d been cheated.

“Just thinking that you should start getting ready for bed,” she lied, reaching out and tucking a lock of hair behind Cissie’s ear. “It’s getting close to midnight, and you’ve got school tommorow.”

Cissie nodded. “Yeah, I am pretty beat. I’m gonna shower first, though, if you don’t mind.”

“Go ahead.” Leaning in, Dinah gave her a light peck on the forehead. “Sweet dreams, Cissie.”

“You, too,” Cissie replied, and then almost moved to stand, but then didn’t. Instead, she gave Dinah a hug. It was an awkward gesture that made it apparent that the action was unfamiliar to her; she didn’t know how to place her hands, at first going to put her arm around Dinah’s neck but then clumsily shifting them to Dinah’s waist.

Regardless of the hug’s unskilled execution, Dinah appreciated it all the same. Too inexperienced with physical contact beyond combat, Cissie rarely reached out to touch anyone. For her to initiate contact marked a huge improvement from when she’d first come to live with Dinah.     

So she hugged Cissie back tightly. “Thank you,” she whispered to her, taking comfort in the warmth and weight of Cissie’s body, glad that she finally had Cissie in her family now even if she hadn’t been able to raise her as her own.

Once Cissie had disappeared upstairs, Dinah finally found herself relaxing, and she poured herself a glass of scotch before returning to the JLA mission logs.

And knowing that Cissie was home safe, this time she was able to concentrate on the reports much better.


End file.
